Awake
by OrangeShipper
Summary: They're telling him exactly what he wants to hear. And that is precisely the problem. Mild s2 spoilers.


A/N: _Unusually for me, I'm pretty much going to shut up and let you read this one! Other than to say, it's based on the spoiler pics alone for ep 2x05 - conceived (GAAAH) before we knew what Matthew's actual injuries were. _

_Um.. And, don't take it too seriously, I suppose!  
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><p><strong>Awake<strong>

Matthew woke up.

Or… he _thought_ he woke up. Did he? He couldn't quite tell.

Everything seemed… grey. Muffled. He couldn't… _quite_ feel, couldn't work out if that dull ache was pain, where it was coming from, his ears were ringing, and he _thought_ he'd opened his eyes, or tried to, but couldn't… see, everything was grey and… well, that was it.

The last thing he remembered was… running. Shooting, gunshots all around and shouting, shell blasts, it was so loud, so loud and all he could think was to get forward, keep his arm up and his eyes on the line, get forward, shoot any bastard in the way…

"_SHELL!" _He heard a shout as though from a great distance, and… then what had happened?

A flash, a blinding flash, a wave of heat and the strangest sensation of weightlessness, just for a moment… was there pain? And then, blackness, and now… this.

What _was_ this?

He felt… not very much, of anything. Softness and warmth and numbness and a dull, tingling ache all over.

"Matthew… Matthew, can you hear me?"

The soft, familiar voice floated, seeped through the fog into his consciousness.

"Go away," he mumbled, tried to. He didn't need her. Not now, it wasn't _supposed_ to be her, was never _supposed _to be her he thought of…

"Matthew…?"

"Leave me alone, Mary..." Could he not have any peace from her? Every crisis, every moment of danger, every minute trapped under fire, it was _her_. Then, another...

"Can you hear us, Matthew?"

"What are you doing here?" he muttered. "You're not usually here. Not at the same time as her."

"The war office contacted me; I travelled back as soon as I could –"

"What…? Back… where?"

He frowned, gently (he thought); it was not unusual for Mother to make an appearance here but why speak of _travel_? He was confused, so confused, his head felt a mess and everything seemed to buzz faintly… His whole world was faded, muted grey.

"It's alright, Matthew," Mother's voice sounded so confident, so assured, as though willing him to believe her. "You're quite safe now, you're at Downton again."

"Oh, piss off."

Always, always, they tried to tell him this, one or the other or both of them (though not usually together, that really was odd…) would be telling him it was all alright, he was at Downton; forcing it into his head and his dreams, not letting him forget, letting him hope, and then he'd wake up and bitterness would engulf him again.

"Matthew!"

"No, Matthew, you _are_ at Downton," Mary tried to convince him with the same, reasonless, entirely _un_convincing words as Mother.

"Well of course you'd say that," he argued. Why was he even bothering to argue? God, he must have taken a blow… "You always say that." His voice dropped to a small, sad murmur.

"I say it because it's true," Mary's voice tried to reason softly. Damn it all, why did she always have to sound so bloody reasonable?

"You always say that, too," he snapped back.

Something suddenly cut through the tingling and the numbness and the pain, something seeming to touch his arm. He shied away from it, whatever it was. Was he really moving at all? He had no idea.

"Matthew, listen a moment." There, Mother, always the voice of sense. Trying to be, anyway. "Can you see us?"

What an odd question to ask, he thought.

"No..." But then, he couldn't always. That wasn't unusual; sometimes he could, sometimes it was just voices, like now...

"Now, dear – you were injured in a shell blast; this will be hard to swallow, but the flash in the explosion damaged your sight – only temporarily, all being well. You are awake, dear, you just – can't see, and if things are sounding muffled to you, that's also why."

"I see."

How reasonable. It made perfect sense, of course it did. Why would it not? Everything always _seemed_ perfectly reasonable. It made sense, it _fit_, where he needed it to. It explained everything.

"There, Matthew, are you alright?" Mary again, always Mary, pushing in and pretending to care and _why_ would she not just leave him alone?

"Lavinia..." he murmured. Trying to, _trying _to think of her... "Where's Lavinia?"

"Oh, she's just arrived –"

"Matthew!"

"– we'll give you a moment."

"Darling?" In his mind, he reached out to her, almost believing he could feel her touch...

"I'm here."

He waited. There was... nothing else. No other voices, she wasn't intruding, she wasn't there...

"Has she gone?" he mumbled. "Mary."

"Yes, she's –"

"You made her go away... How did you make her go away?" He could barely hear his own groggy voice, was only aware he was saying it because he thought it.

"What on earth do you mean, Matthew? She only stepped aside to give us a moment, and your mother, there was no 'making her go away' about it! Why would you say that, darling?"

"Because she's always here. I know you try to push in, I try to push you in, but she always stays –"

"Mary's always stayed at Downton, as far as I know, yes, but –"

"No, not Downton. In my head."

"Matthew? Do you know you're _at_ Downton, darling? You came here yesterday."

"For God's sake, not you, too!" he snapped curtly. "Why are you telling me that? Doesn't make sense..." When Lavinia _was_ here, she _never_ tried to tell him that Downton was the right place... Nothing was making sense.

"It makes perfect sense, darling! You've been hurt, you've been brought home and we're here for you, why won't you believe it?"

"Why won't I believe it?" Matthew snorted, his irritation (at himself, at _them_) growing. "That the three people I care the most about in the world are gathered around my bedside telling me that I'm safe? That I'm _home_? Yes, that would just be bloody _perfect,_ wouldn't it!" He was sick of it, of the emptiness, the fogginess, the dull ache, he just wanted to _wake up_ but they wouldn't stop taunting him...

"Matthew –"

"In fact, why not tell me the bloody war's over, while you're at it? Better yet, that the last four blasted years never happened at all? That Mary loves me? No? Then shut up, piss off, and leave me bloody well alone, all three of you."

Over the persistent buzz in his ears, Matthew heard his own shout ring and fade into weighty (almost) silence as all his agitated strength flooded out of him.

He lay, trembling slightly but otherwise motionless, his heavy, ragged breaths being the only sound to disturb the still silence. Lavinia's hand flew to her mouth, covering her sharp gasp, as she stumbled back from his sterile hospital bed. When she flung open the protective curtain, unable to stay in that closeted, confined space another moment, she was met by the equally stunned expressions of Mary and Isobel, who had drawn closer at Matthew's evident distress... and heard every last word. With a distraught sob, she fled the room.

The two remaining women stood for a moment, looking at each other in shock.

Isobel eventually whispered, "He must think he's dreaming. Mary, I don't know what to –"

"No. No, it's alright," Mary shook her head dismissively. She felt unnaturally calm; strange, considering what she'd just overheard.

Without another word, she calmly went and perched on the side of his bed, reaching for his hand. She gave it a tight squeeze, smiling gently at the reassuring warmth. She felt him tense beside her, stiffen, as though he were suddenly very aware of her presence.

For a moment, he'd been confused, more confused even than he'd been before. There was silence... They'd gone, all of them... He wasn't sure he'd ever managed that, before, and wasn't quite sure what it meant. Immediately, cold, stabbing unease stirred in his gut, the strange, buzzing silence feeling dreadfully oppressive all of a sudden, and he wanted them back... One of them, all of them, _someone_...

"Matthew..."

He breathed a deep sigh, as the soft, sweet, lyrical voice that comforted him the most (though he knew it shouldn't) seeped back to him. She'd come back... Oh, he complained, he pushed her away, but _really, _he always wanted her back... He felt himself smile. Felt himself clench his fingers slightly, and was surprised to feel warm resistance there, soft skin, slender fingers under his own... If he'd had any doubt he was dreaming, it disappeared in that warm touch, further when her warm voice followed.

"Matthew... I do."

Warm, delicious peace spread through him. And then... soft, tender lips pressing to his forehead.

His breath stopped in his throat.

She never... it was always... more _passionate_, when he imagined it or remembered it, always a release, a rush, a forbidden pleasure that tortured him as much as it aroused him... Never like _this_...

As he focussed again upon the warmth of her hand in his, the warmth of her voice washing over him, through the fog... he swallowed thickly, and found his voice in a quiet, desperate murmur.

"You're here, aren't you... I'm here?"

"Yes, Matthew. It's alright."

And all at once, somehow...

Matthew knew he'd woken up.

**Fin**

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><p>AN: _Thank you so much for reading! Now you've read it, I'd like to add a slight disclaimer that I don't necessarily think this is a realistic portrayal of what could happen, just more an exploration of Matthew's subconscious thoughts that needed wrapping up neatly with a fic bow, so... Yes! I do hope you enjoyed it, and would love to hear what you thought! Thank you! _


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